


I Swear it Was an Accident

by DaringlyDomestic



Series: Tumblr Drabble Challenge [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:44:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7849219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr Drabble Challenge #42</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Swear it Was an Accident

 

Mycroft blinks, breathes deeply, trying to clear his nose. The cold, sterile scent of the hospital is cloyingly familiar and unwelcome. The doctor standing in front of Mycroft is a kindly old man. He is speaking slowly and glossing over the worst of it. Mycroft can feel the fury rising inside of him. Instead, he brushes invisible lint from his sleeve and levels his dispassionate gaze at the doctor.

“Just give me the facts, Doctor. I am perfectly capable of handling them. No need to soften the blow.”

He snorts the last part sarcastically. The doctor raises his eyebrows but agrees. He starts over leaving nothing out. 

“Mr. Lestrade is quite lucky to be alive. He has sustained several broken ribs, a fractured femur, concussion, and a partially collapsed lung. He is missing two fingernails on his right hand and there are severe burn marks covering his torso and arms. The injuries were likely inflicted over the course of several days - three at most - but his outlook is quite good. We expect recovery to be…”

Mycroft stops listening. Three days. Those bastards had Lestrade for three days. He swears at himself and smiles patiently at the doctor who is still prattling on about treatment and recovery. He and Lestrade fought right before he left for China. They hadn’t spoken and Mycroft assumed it was the typical post-fight silent treatment. Tissue paper crinkles in his pocket as his fist squeezes. So much for the conciliatory chocolates he bought upon landing this morning. He actually picked them out himself. Anthea’s jaw has still not recovered. 

He can’t bring himself to care about any more niceties tonight. He interrupts the doctor mid-stream.

“Yes. Thank you very much but I am feeling a bit overwhelmed. Perhaps we could finish going over this another time?”

Mycroft leaves no room for argument, turns on his heel, and pushes his way into Lestrade’s room without waiting for a response. The detective inspector looks impossibly small in the bed. There are too many machines. Too many beep whoosh click noises. Mycroft falls asleep propped against the cold, hard press of the corner of the room where he managed to wedge the chair as far from Lestrade as possible. 

…

Mycroft awakes to a harsh choked, barking noise. He blinks into awareness and immediately scans the room. His shoulders relax a fraction when he realizes the alien sound was Lestrade’s feeble attempt at laughter.

“Christ, My. You look like a bloody gargoyle all hunched over in that dark corner. What the hell were you thinking?”

Lestrade tries to smile but the effort pulls at his split lip and blood starts to leak slowly down his chin. He flicks his tongue out and flinches at the slight sting but doesn’t seem particularly bothered. 

“Yes, well. Your punctured lung has been giving the staff some trouble but otherwise all will be mended with time. Physio will be hellish I hear, but that is only to be expected I imagine. Anyway, I only meant to stop by and see that you were alright. I won’t keep you. Get some rest, Lestrade, you look awful.”

The corners of Mycroft’s eyes flash soft before drawing back to their neutral hardened state. Lestrade sighs heavily.

“Don’t make me have this fight now. Look, I’m injured!”

He half-teases and throws the full force of his puppy-dog eyes at Mycroft, who can only surrender. Lestrade fiddles with the corner of the blanket and the silence lingers for several minutes. 

“My?”

The question is so soft that it startles Mycroft more than the silence had. His head jerks up to lock his icy gaze on Lestrade. 

“Mmm?”

“To tell you the truth, I was enraged when you left. I thought you didn’t care enough to stay and hash it out. I was hurt and I lashed out. I-I took your brolly. I know it was wrong, but I only meant to keep it at my flat until you got back and realized it was missing. But…”

Lestrade’s voice drops low and he is clearly fighting strong emotions. Mycroft is on his feet and moving toward the bed before he makes the conscious decision to do so. 

“But they jumped me two blocks down. I didn’t even see them coming. I tried to fight them off but they stuck me with some kind of drug. Next thing I know, I’m tied up in some fucking penthouse flat, and well…you’ve heard the rest.”

Lestrade motions to a shoe box on the table next to him. 

“The, um, brolly didn’t make it. I swear it was an accident. I would never have done anything to it. I know how much it means to you. I’m so sorry.”

Lestrade deflates and averts his eyes as Mycroft’s hand sweeps lovingly over the box. He startles when he feels a large, soft hand gently pushing the hair off of his forehead.

“Greg,”

It’s the name more than anything that makes him look up. He can hardly believe that Mycroft Holmes is looking at him with such unconcealed sincerity. 

“Sod the damn umbrella.”

The sleep-damp words breeze across his cheeks before Mycroft’s lips are pressing gently against Greg’s. He feels Mycroft’s fist tighten in the sheets as he repeats himself.

“Sod the damn umbrella.”

Mycroft’s whole body is vibrating with barely-restrained energy, anger and passion mixing together to leave the man on the edge of a bloody panic attack. 

“Hey.”

Lestrade strokes his finger soothingly along Mycroft’s hand. It’s the best he can do right now. "

They had you and I didn’t know for three days. Me. With all the resources of Her Majesty’s government. The one person who could have found you and put an end to it. I didn’t know."

A tear slides unbidden down Mycroft’s nose and lands softly in Greg’s hair. That’s how he knows. That one single tear tells the detective inspector everything he needs to know about the depths of Mycroft’s affection. He kisses Mycroft’s ear and whispers softly:

“I love you too.”


End file.
